Caller: “This is Lisa; I am calling from Dr. [Name]’s office. I need to call in a prescription for a patient.”

Pharmacist: “Sure, what is the patient’s name?”

Caller: “It is [Patient].”

Pharmacist: “And the prescription?”

Caller: “It’s [narcotic], 90 pills, three times a day.”

Pharmacist: “Okay, thanks.”

(The pharmacist hangs up and turns to me, frowning.)

Pharmacist: “Do you know anything about this?”

Me: “What? No, why?”

(The pharmacist shows me the called-in prescription.)

Me: “Oh! Lisa was fired months ago. You had better call the police.”

(When Lisa came in to pick up the narcotic prescription for her boyfriend, the police were there to arrest her. The doctor she used to work for is my father; she was trying to use his license number to get pills from a dozen nearby pharmacies.)

(The customer mumbles incoherently as he rests up against the door, touching himself very inappropriately. My coworker manages to talk him into getting into his underwear, as the cops arrive and arrest him.)

Cop #1: “What’s your name, son?”

Customer: “I AM GOD!”

Cop #1: “Yeah, okay, son. Let’s go.”

(The cops lead him out into the freezing air in only his underwear. Later in the day, they come back to explain why he did it.)

Cop #1: “Apparently, he was on four hits of acid, and had just left a house party on campus!”

(The customer came in the next day demanding that we return his iPhone that ‘we clearly stole’. We threw him out of the store.)

(I am eight years old. My mother, father and I are all in the chemist to get some medication. My father has a rare spinal condition which is causing him to wobble when he walks, even with a frame. We’re waiting at the counter and hear a customer behind us make a remark under their breath; deliberately loud enough for us to hear.)

Customer #1: “Drunk at 9AM; you should be ashamed.”

(We try to ignore it.)

Customer #1: “This is disgusting; you should be so embarrassed.”

(I don’t like this person being rude to my father.)

Me: “Watch your tone lady. If you’d bother to be polite and ask if my father is okay, you’d know he has a special illness that makes him this way. He’s not drunk; he’s my father, and I love him. Now apologize for being so mean about him.”

(She goes red, stammers, and goes down an aisle. The pharmacist gives me a lollipop.)

(I work as a receptionist in a doctor’s office. There are about 10 people who have been waiting for at least 90 minutes. It’s very quiet. A young man mumbles something. Some people look his way, but other than that no one pays much attention to him. He then starts singing, a little louder…)